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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524567">Of Flesh and Bone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onesmartcookie78/pseuds/Onesmartcookie78'>Onesmartcookie78</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toriopolis/pseuds/Toriopolis'>Toriopolis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lady of the Lightsaber [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>"do it", Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Crack Treated Seriously, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Mush, Hurt/Comfort, Lightsaber Battles, Lightsabers, Luke is a cinnamon roll, Sith Rituals, Swearing, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, holocrons, lots of swearing, luke is super fluffy in this, luke is too pure, no beta we die like men, the "what if" no one asked for, what if luke's lightsaber was a human woman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:00:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onesmartcookie78/pseuds/Onesmartcookie78, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toriopolis/pseuds/Toriopolis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever had a shit day? I mean a shit day, like a get-murdered-by-a-raging-homicidal-psychopath-and-then-get-stuck-in-his-weapon-for-the-rest-of-foreseeable-eternity kind of day? </p><p>No? </p><p>Well count yourself lucky. </p><p>AKA the story of Aliana Monista. Once a Padawan. Once a human. Now a lightsaber previously owned by the biggest jackass in the galaxy. </p><p>Also known as the story of how Aliana Monista falls in love with a farmboy and finds her own redemption in the process.</p><p>  <a href="https://discord.gg/phzUsxX">Join my Discord!</a></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leia Organa/Han Solo, Luke Skywalker/Original Female Character(s), Luke Skywalker/Reader, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Lady of the Lightsaber [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Don't Fuck Around With Holocrons Or You'll Regret It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>We don't own Star Wars, but we do own the idea for this fic. As far as I've seen, there are no other "lightsaber turns out to be an actual person" fanfictions, though I might be wrong in that assessment. In any case, we do own our Original Female Character, Aliana Monista, so please don't steal her, k thx</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aliana Monista did not live what could be defined as a “normal” life. And yes, that’s even if you were to include her fellow Jedi. Which Ali does, much to their general displeasure. So naturally, it only follows that she would not die a normal death. </p><p>Ironically, it all begins on a fairly normal day—well, as normal as her days have been, having recently made the transition from Youngling to Padawan. It’s been... different for her, to say the least, suddenly going from guided meditations with Master Yoda to having a Master of her own. Master Jocasta Nu and Ali were still getting acquainted, having not been together for very long, and it shows. Their relationship isn’t strained, but it’s certainly a little awkward, despite Master Nu’s best efforts.</p><p>Master Nu is showing her how to access the back archives—you know, the stuff that requires codes to get into, the kind of stuff that’s normally <em> forbidden </em>—when it begins. There’s... Ali doesn’t know how to describe it, except to say that there’s a disturbance in the Force, a hush that falls across all her senses, like she’s suddenly gone numb to the world, and all that’s left is—n o t h i n g.</p><p>Ali turns to Master Nu, confused, but her Master isn’t looking at her; Nu’s gaze is focused squarely on the entrance of the Library, but even Ali, inexperienced as she is, can tell that her Master is worried more about the Temple beyond it. </p><p>“Master?” Ali asks, shuddering as the Force whispers again, this time more urgently. </p><p>And then, the <em> screaming </em>starts.</p><p>She’s not sure where she hears it first: in her head or out loud, but what she does know is that Master Nu’s yellow lightsaber is drawn and she’s being pushed into the back room.</p><p>“Listen closely, young one,” and Master Nu is so <em> calm </em> that Ali has to be too. “I’m going to gather all the Younglings, and you’re going to protect them,” and Nu says it so casually that Ali has to accept her words as fact.  Then, with a soft, but no less urgent hand on her shoulder, Master Nu adds, “Everything will be fine.”</p><p>Ali doesn’t even know what’s happening, let alone how Master Nu knows that everything will “be fine”, but she figures she has two options and the better of them is to trust Master Nu and trust in the Force. The alternative, which is to start panicking at the sheer amount of stimuli in the Force and eventually have a breakdown, is not an option Ali wishes to consider. </p><p>Ali nods to her Master, who returns the motion with a great amount of severity before darting off with her lightsaber ablaze. The last Ali sees of Master Nu is like fading golden sunlight on a warm day, and then Ali’s hand wanders down to her own weapon, clipped onto her belt. Taking a deep breath, Ali grips the weapon in both her hands and stares down the door, hoping nothing will find her. </p><p>
  <em> Oh, how naive she is. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>The door to the back archives opens three more times that day. </p><p>The first time, it’s to let in a creche of Younglings her master had undoubtedly directed here. They’re followed by the sound of screams and blaster fire, the smell of blood and smoke lingering still on their flesh. </p><p>“What’s happening?” Ali demands of them, taking count of how many made it. <em> Fourteen </em>. Of the thirty in the class, less than half made it her. Fear, which she’s already become so well acquainted in the past hour, burrows its way into her gut. </p><p>“T-the clones,” one of the Younglings sobs, hands fisting tight in his tunic, like the piece of clothing will be able to save him. “They’re attacking us!”</p><p>“The clones?” Ali echoes, reaching into the Force as her Master taught her. It swirls around her, a mixture of pain and shock, of <em> horror </em> , and even still, despite it all, <em> peace </em> . But there’s something else, something beyond it all, something <em> approaching </em>and when Ali turns her senses towards it, she physically jolts. Pure... pure evil is inside the temple. </p><p>She wants to be brave, wants to lead the Younglings in group meditation, tell them that the Force will guide them, that sometimes the best course of action is <em> no </em> course of action, but she can’t. She can’t just sit still, can’t just wait for <em> evil </em> to come knocking on <em> their </em> door, can’t wait for evil to kill the Younglings, to kill <em> her. </em></p><p>
  <em> So she looks. </em>
</p><p>She looks frantically, and she’s unafraid of how she looks to the Younglings, because she is rattled and she <em> isn’t </em> brave, and she can’t even pretend to be after sensing <em> that </em>. Mind whirling, she pulls up the datapad directory of the holocrons, quickly typing in search words like: “Protect,” “Defend,” “Hide,” and “Live.”</p><p>One of these cubes must have some form of ancient knowledge that can save them. </p>
<hr/><p>The second time is an accident. It happens as Ali is frantically pulling several holocrons off the wall. Holocrons that are dark in color, holocrons that are pyramidal, holocrons that make her skin <em>crawl</em> and a shiver rush down her spine just from touching them, but <em>hey</em>, beggars can’t be choosers, and she doesn’t have time to feel bad about accessing the forbidden when their lives are at stake. One of the Younglings slumps against the wall, close enough to the door control panel for it to trigger. When the door slides open, Ali and the fourteen Younglings catch just a glimpse of what has happened to their home—of what <em>is happening </em>to their home. </p><p>The Temple Library is being destroyed—that is to say, if one wouldn’t call it that already. The statues of Jedi Masters have been forced off their pedestals, marble dashed across the floor in heavy chunks. The computer terminals look to be completely fried, shot up with blaster bolts. The study tables have either been knocked over or are similarly riddled with holes from blaster fire. Some are a messy combination of both. The tall datapad-cases, symbols of knowledge and learning that had lured Ali to the Temple Library as a Youngling, are in the process of being toppled over by men in white armor. The men in white armor who had once been their friends. </p><p>One of the Younglings lets out a wail, and the troopers turn their attention onto them. In the two seconds it takes for the archive door to close again, the clones have already shot five of them with deadly accuracy. </p>
<hr/><p>The Younglings are all crying now, no sense of silent terror left. </p><p>And Ali wishes she knew how to <em> make them stop, stop so that she can think, can gather her thoughts </em> , but the only ones that are silent are the ones that are <em> dead </em>, and she doesn’t want that.</p><p>So she fumbles with the holocrons, reaches out to them with the Force, tries to determine which one is the right one, but who’s to say. The Force gives her nothing, tells her <em> nothing. </em> She picks one of the three she’d set aside at complete random, and tries to shush the sobbing Younglings as she activates it.</p><p>The man who appears in the midst of them is not someone Ali recognizes from any of her lessons. His eyes shine unnaturally bright even through the holocron, and his hair sweeps easily down past his collar bones.</p><p>The only warning she gets is his deep voice rumbling: “Repeat after me.” And then he’s saying things in a language she doesn’t understand, and it’s all she can do to follow along with what he’s saying, let alone pausing it long enough to get the Younglings to do the same. </p><p>She urges them all to their feet, urges their lightsabers to their hands in a poor mimicry of the holocron, urges them with her words and with the Force to remain calm, and it <em> works </em>.</p><p>Ali’s voice is shaky as she tells them to be One with the Force, to just <em> breathe </em>, and to repeat the words the holocron is spouting, words that flow steadily out of the man’s mouth in a language that she doesn’t know, saying things that she can’t even guess at.</p><p>Judging by the silence, the Holocron has finished and when she opens her eyes, her lightsaber weighs heavily in her palms. </p><p>The Younglings are gone. All that remains are their lightsabers and her.</p><p>And then the holocron <em> explodes. </em></p>
<hr/><p>Amidst charred metal and fine shards of crystal, Ali opens her eyes, and so too opens the door for the third and final time. Though, can you really consider it having opened when it’s blasted off its hinges? She reaches for her lightsaber, stretches out her arm to the fullest extent, <em> tries to call for it </em>, but receives nothing in return. Maybe it’s gone too, gone like the Younglings. Are they dead? Is she dead?</p><p>No.</p><p>The repressing force of the evil being she felt earlier bears down upon her, grinds her movements to a halt. She’s paralyzed with fear, and it’s all she can do to roll over and face the evil head on. If she’s going to die, she won’t die a coward.</p><p>Yellow eyes glint at her from under the cowl shrouding his face, but when he raises his blue lightsaber, Ali sees Master Skywalker. And, as he brings down the lightsaber to rend her flesh and bone, she vows to never forget.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. YOu uNdErEsTimAte mY pOwEr!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to everyone who clicked on this story and gave it some love--we know this idea is strange and, to say the least, it's a bit of a hard sell, but we love it regardless, and we hope that you all continue to enjoy it.</p><p>As always, we appreciate any support you might give us, whether it be kudos or comments, though I will say that comments are preferred ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a strange feeling. Being dead, that is. At least, Ali has to assume she’s dead. She’s certainly not alive anymore. She can’t feel her body. She can’t see it either, but considering that she can’t see anything besides an endless expanse of blank, bright </span>
  <em>
    <span>white</span>
  </em>
  <span> that doesn’t seem surprising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing could ever be normal for her, could it? Couldn’t even die right, huh?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali doesn’t know why she asks the Force these questions. It hasn’t answered her yet. It hasn’t answered anything. Though, that might be because she can’t feel it anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali tries not to let the knowledge discomfort her, but the fact that she’s like this, just... existing is nothing short of disquieting. When she died, she’d always thought that she’d move on, become one with the Force, embrace the cycle of reincarnation into living things. Instead she’s... well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s like Ali is in a void, some sort of blank space cut off from the Force. And isn’t that just plain </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span> in and of itself? Wouldn’t there be... something at the end? Anything at all? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ali remembers with a shivering clarity. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes there is something else here. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels</span>
  <em>
    <span> him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels the rage of Master Skywalker, the waves of anger and despair, and it scares her. His feelings were the only company she has received here. The only thing from the outside able to permeate this endless place. It was her first companion, her only companion since Ali has gained some form of awareness here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even though it’s the only thing she’s sensed, the only thing here besides her own emotions, it still fills Ali with dread, thinking about its inevitable return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she feels him, senses that... </span>
  <em>
    <span>evil</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it takes every ounce of her willpower not to shy away. Not to slink into the bright shadows of this nothing place and forget about the monster that struck her down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ali has never been someone to give up, never someone to give into despair, even when she’s in a place like this, a place not even the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Force </span>
  </em>
  <span>can reach—Focus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali waits, meditating the best she can without any sense of a corporeal form. She will face this monster in death as she faced him in life—ready to fight. What more can the monster do to her now? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali prays the Force chooses to ignore that question too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she waits, waits for the monster to encroach upon her space once again. Because this time, she will fight. Ali is no Jedi in death she reasons. She will do whatever she can to escape this place, or at the very least, make Master Skywalker hurt just as much as she has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She senses him before he senses her, if he even senses her at all that is. There is so much darkness in him now, Ali doubts if anything, nevertheless anything light, can make it through the evil permeating his senses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Ali takes what she thinks is a deep breath—if anything it’s more like a pause because, again, she has no body—and concentrates on the center of this dark mass. And then she fights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every sense of calm Ali has culminated in this place is shoved at the darkness, every sense of peace, every will for justice. And when she runs out of those feelings she turns to her memories. Moments with her creche class, the elation of being chosen as a Padawan, the first time she held her completed lightsaber. Ali fights his evil the only way she knows how, trying to slam through the swirling mass of darkness with memories of laughter and happier times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first time she held a datapad in her hand, when Master Nu gave her a tour of the Library, the thrill of knowing all this knowledge was in </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>hands. Ali tries to beat back the darkness with these kind memories, but it feels as though she’s wading through mud. The darkness is immovable, and Ali is quickly running out of happy memories. If Ali were anyone else, perhaps she would begin to feel frustrated. She presses on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Has the darkness, has </span>
  <em>
    <span>Master Skywalker,</span>
  </em>
  <span> ever experienced the wonder of the archives, the thrill of sneaking out of the creche late at night with your best friend, the comfort of home cooked meals in the cafeteria?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Master Skywalker’s evil is still there, still impeding upon this place, upon </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So maybe Ali is beginning to feel a little frustrated, why won’t the darkness just leave? Why won’t it give up and leave her alone? Hasn’t it done enough already? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if happiness won’t fight the darkness? Fine, then maybe sadness will. So Ali throws memories at it. Every time she’s gotten yelled at, finding out that one of her older Padawan friends had left the Order, the utter despair she felt when she saw Master Nu that one last time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not moving, the darkness isn’t moving, it’s not going away—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fourteen Younglings sought out the archives for safety, five of them died when the door opened for 3 seconds, how could you let them die? How could you let them be killed, why did you let them be killed? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How could you kill them, Ali? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Terror, terror unparalleled by any form of fear she’s ever felt in the eight short years of her life. The last thing she ever felt in life was that fear and now she flings it at this monster, begging the Force to see her, help her, be with her once more. She throws everything she has at it, though at this point Ali isn’t quite positive what </span>
  <em>
    <span>it </span>
  </em>
  <span>is: the darkness, Master Skywalker, or herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The embarrassment from being chided as a child, the disappointment when all her friends become Padawans before her, the jealousy of seeing creche-mates make an impact on the world while she’s stuck waiting for someone to choose her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when the only thing Ali has left is hate, she uses it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No... that isn’t quite right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the only thing keeping Ali together is hate, rage, anger, and bitterness she doesn’t use it. She embraces it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could you kill people? How could you let us all down? How come you decide who lives and who dies? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why did Ali have to defend the Younglings? Why did Ali have to die? Why?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She screams it. She uses it like a battering ram, pushing at the darkness over and over again. Why, why, why, why? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why you? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then softer, just as the darkness gives way into light, color, feeling: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why me? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It’s like a breath of fresh air, except for the fact that Ali still can’t breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s being gripped, tightly, but Ali can’t seem to care because while the grasp is strong, it’s not hurting her. Instead, Ali is taking in what’s around her. Color, beautiful, glorious, mostly red color.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she takes in the feelings. The sensations she’s allowed to experience again. Wind, sweat, heat. Heat? Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lava?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And lo and behold, heat plus red means lava. Lots of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Ali made it somewhere after all—Hell, she made it to hell. Of all the religions to be right—Focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can see again, can see something other than the blinding bright white and nothingness. She can feel again too, though she can’t feel her limbs and she doesn’t think her sense of smell has returned yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, most importantly, she can see Master Kenobi. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank the Force.</span>
  </em>
  <span>..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then comes the sensation of being swung around, twisted and thrusted and parried. Surprisingly, the feeling doesn’t make her feel sick, probably because she doesn’t have a body, as far as she’s aware.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she realizes something even more important: she doesn’t have a body... but she’s being moved like she does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She can’t be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she’s being held aloft, brandished like... like a weapon. Because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> one. She’s somehow been transformed. Somehow, some way, in the span of dying and waking up, Ali’s been transformed into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lightsaber.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And not just any lightsaber. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anakin Skywalker’s</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s over, Anakin,” she hears, and she’s swung around to face Master Kenobi, who’s pale and sweaty from exertion, reddish hair plastered to his scalp. Master Kenobi waves his arms in a grandiose gesture. “I have the high ground!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YOu uNdErEsTimAte mY pOwEr!” Master Skywalker—no, just Skywalker, he doesn’t deserve the respect—replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not if I have anything to say about it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ali thinks to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t try it,” Master Kenobi says, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>begs</span>
  </em>
  <span>, shaking his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, we’re going to try it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali doesn’t know if she can do anything, doesn’t know if she can move or make Skywalker move, or how </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is even possible to begin with</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but she’ll do everything she can to make the most of it. To make Anakin Skywalker </span>
  <em>
    <span>pay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so she focuses. Focuses harder than she thinks she ever has before. Imagines Master Yoda scolding her for letting her thoughts drift, Master Nu telling her that she shouldn’t daydream so much, every comment her fellow Padawans had ever offered to her for guidance. She takes all the advice she’s received, all the lectures, and she forces herself to heed them, forces herself to </span>
  <em>
    <span>pay attention for once in her life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And she forces Anakin Skywalker to jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And all she has to do...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is whisper. Just hiss ever so faintly:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>To say the least, it doesn’t end well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali has the uncomfortable sensation of being turned upside down as Skywalker tries to flip over Master Kenobi, and then she’s flying out of his hand, clanging against blackened rock and sand, tottering ever-so-close to the lava below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yeah, maybe it’s a little childish, but when she hits the ground and Skywalker flies back towards the lava </span>
  <em>
    <span>in pieces</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ali’s comforted by that fact that the only person who hears her screams of victory are her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Master Kenobi starts rambling about how Skywalker was supposed to be the chosen one, but all Ali can think is “fuck yes, he’s going to die,” which probably isn’t an attitude that a Jedi should have, though she figures she’s not really much of a Jedi anymore, with the whole “being dead” thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, she’s not really dead anymore, now is she?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she is tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So tired she can barely keep her eyes open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, if she had eyes, that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her vision goes white around the edges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that, she’s gone.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Blank Space (By T-Swift)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ali is trapped in the lightsaber and it fucking sucks</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to everyone who gave this a read!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She’s back in the blank space again. But it’s okay this time; she’s a little too tired to care much. Maybe a nap will do her some good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali tries to close her eyes, only to remember once again that she’s body-less. In the grand scheme of things, still not having a body should bother her more than it does. But the sound of Skywalker’s screams, well, there’s really no better memory to drift her to sleep is there?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so she drifts into a meditative state, feeling her mind both relax and expand at the same time. Just when Ali thought she had this blasted space figured out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The edges of her consciousness brush against the confines of this space, it is not as endless as she once thought, but nevertheless feels as though it goes on forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As half of her mind recuperates from her outside-the-void experience, the other continues to drift across this place and explore what once appeared to be empty. There is light here, of course, but not of the blinding white variety she had once guessed it to be. She can see the blue in it now, especially around the edges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsurprising, Ali thinks, recalling this blue color when she last had a body and it had cut her down. She could be bitter about it, Ali thinks, but then the memory of Skywalker suffering a similar fate makes Ali feel slightly better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She retreats from the blue in the end though, centering herself in the bright white center of this void—her void, she supposes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wonders what she can do here, if she can do anything here. If she had a body, she’d frown. Ali will find </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do here, she’s not going to remain here for an eternity and learn nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Ali focuses. What can she do here, what should she try to do here? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Idea 1: Leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Easier said than done, especially when Ali isn’t positive as to how she escaped into the outside world in the first place. She determinedly ignores the stirrings of righteous rage and indignation on the periphery of her emotional consciousness, seemingly ready to make an appearance at any time to unleash the full power of her hate onto any unsuspecting soul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Ali focuses on what she feels is more of her “physical” self, for lack of physical—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, kriff it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Step 1—yes, Ali is moving from ideas to steps because you can’t accomplish ideas without steps in the first place and so—get a body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali can almost imagine herself in this place. She’d dress herself as a proper Padawan. No, better yet she’ll dress as she did for her Choosing Ceremony. Tan wool bottoms tucked into the knee high brown leather boots of a Jedi. The white cotton undershirt, followed by the wool one, then the outer tan wool layer. A brown leather belt around her waist, her lightsaber clipped proudly on it. She’ll complete the look with a long flowing Jedi robe, because it was her imagination in this place and she didn’t have to follow what she wore during the ceremony exactly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in a motion close to opening her eyes, but is really more like making her consciousness take a step back, she can see it. She can see </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The copy of herself is dressed as she imagined, flowing Jedi robe and all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s so happy, Ali can almost feel the tears of joy in her eyes—her attention cracked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The image disappears like smoke, like it had never been there in the first place. Desperately, Ali tries to recapture it, reimagine it, but the more frantic she becomes in clinging to it, the quicker it recedes back into the abyss of this place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s left with nothing. Again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, not nothing. The memory of something. The memory of what she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>have had if she just </span>
  <em>
    <span>focused. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s mad. She’s furious, angry at herself, sad. She just—she just—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wants to go </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She wants to be back in the temple, with her friends, her Master. She wants to be back where the world made sense, where everything was fine. Where she had a body to touch, to feel. To talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali retreats fully, wrapping her consciousness tightly into a single area and wishes, begs, pleads, with anything that she could just cry herself to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She fully drifts off into meditation this time. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When she wakes, it’s to a powerful presence in the Force. It’s not the evil suffocating sense of Skywalker’s rage. It’s something light, not exactly warm, but not unwelcoming either. Something... familiar? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali chases it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her vision goes from white to blue and then she’s able to see her surroundings with sudden clarity once more. There’s that sensation of being gripped, though this time, the hold her wielder has is loose, almost reluctant. She’s raised to eye-level and she realizes that Master Kenobi is the one holding her this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have taken her off Skywalker’s corpse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kriff, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Skywalker.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali remembers... lava, burning hot heat and anger boiling over for the final time and then—then nothing, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>became </span>
  </em>
  <span>nothing. Not nothing like </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but nothing all the same, because he was dead. Dead and gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or so she assumes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All she recalls is Master Kenobi cleaving off a few of Skywalker’s limbs and then leaving him to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He should have finished the job.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, murder isn’t really the Jedi Way, now is it? It isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Jedi Way, either—of that she is certain—but it is definitely only an option when all other avenues have been exhausted. And hadn’t they been, with Skywalker?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She remembers Master Kenobi reaching out to him, begging him to stand down, to fight no further, and then—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then Ali had urged him to jump to his death.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In all fairness, she doubts she’d had much of an impact on him; she’d felt his anger, his hatred—if he’d been at all swayed by her whispers, she’d be surprised. At any rate, it’s not as though she’s able to ask him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to reach out now, tries to focus on Master Kenobi, tries to tell him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s trapped, she’s in the lightsaber, please help her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he doesn’t so much as blink. He regards the lightsaber—her—with heart-breaking curiosity, as though wondering how a tool could have been so misused, sundered so thoroughly from its original purpose. But of course, he receives no reply, just the faint hum of the kyber crystal, her pleas falling on deaf ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as reluctantly as he’d activated the lightsaber—as he’d activated </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>—he deactivates it. Her awareness flutters, as though uncertain as to whether or not she should be remaining conscious despite being deactivated, but eventually something gives and she does. She’s not sure if it’s by sheer willpower or spite that she manages it, but she’s awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She comes to this realization just as Master Kenobi is shoving her none-too-gently within the folds of his robe, and then she hears crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A child?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She wishes she could see, but everything has gone dark following her introduction to Master Kenobi’s pocket. The crying grows closer, louder, and she realizes that Master Kenobi must now be holding the child. Tiny fingers fist into the fabric right above where she’s been tucked in Master Kenobi’s Jedi-sanctioned robe’s breast pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But keeping herself conscious is such a monumental task.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s still so tired, and it seems she can only linger beyond her use for a short period of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to reach out to Master Kenobi once more, but she’s too weak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, a brush along her consciousness, like small fingers trying to catch sunlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The child? Are they Force-sensitive? Can they feel me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Their mind bumps gently against hers once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess they can.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If she could smile in relief, she would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, before she passes out once more, she hears giggling and gurgling and she’s enveloped in a happiness that isn’t her own.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. uwu</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The end is sad, gimme an uwu for Ali</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She’s straining against this place. Pacing, as best she can in an incorporeal form. Because she’s rather tired of the dull confines of this void. She wants out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wants to see Master Kenobi again, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>somebody</span>
  </em>
  <span>—him—has refused to activate the lightsaber again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali’s not sure how long it’s been, but she feels fully rested and recovered from her previous two outside trips. She yearns for another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali wants to see color again, other than the endless expanse of white turning to blue. She wants to feel, actually feel something aside from her own emotions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she hasn’t exactly figured out how to do that on her own yet. The previous two times, she’s followed somebody to the outside. But it is only her in this void now, with no sign of anything from the outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali shouldn’t be surprised. Master Kenobi has his own lightsaber to use, so while he’s off avenging the Jedi Order—okay, so maybe not avenging but certainly restoring—he wouldn’t really have a need for Ali. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s really just unfortunate that Ali has a desperate need for him. Really, truly unfortunate that Master Kenobi has not attempted to investigate the lightsaber at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She starts pacing again, trying to recreate in her mind the sound of boots falling against the marble floors of the Temple. If she focuses, truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>focuses,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she can almost hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chases after the sound, losing herself in the void and the memory of soft-soled boots.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Ali feels him brush against her, briefly, quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lunges after the feeling, quickly, as fast as she can, trying to grab onto that familiar light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Master Kenobi slips away as fast as he had appeared, leaving Ali alone.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Idea 1, so far is a bust, seeing as Ali is waiting on the curiosity of someone to engage with her. Step 1, however, might have some promise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So far, Ali has spent some time thinking—a dangerous pastime—and focusing on her body, her appearance. Long gone are the days where the image would disappear immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, now the image stays—for about five minutes or so. Again, time is difficult to measure in this place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s just... a simple problem. Which, for a Jedi, wasn’t really a problem before. But...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali analyzes the image before her, taking every crease of cloth, the fuzz meticulously planted by her subconscious on the robes, the wear on the sides of the supple leather boots. And then, inevitably, she turns her attention to the problem: Her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jedi are not vain in nature, their physical appearance is irrelevant in comparison to the power and serenity of the person underneath. So it’s not as though Ali has never seen herself, but, well, she never had the cause to care too much when she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali curses her past self now and she tries to reimagine her own nose. Was it this slim? Should it be more upturned? Perhaps more flattened?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes. Ali didn’t think it’d be this hard. Lots of people have blue eyes. But what shade of blue? Oh, and the shape. The slant. Eyelashes, eyebrows, hell-freckles. Does Ali have freckles? Yes, no, maybe? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck she’s gonna have to place each one of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali decides that she did not have freckles. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>She’s getting rather tired of this endless game of chase. Sometimes she can feel him, ever so close, almost there. When Keno—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Master</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kenobi is like that, she tries to scream at him, tries to pull him to her with the sheer power of her being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never closes the final distance though, never reaches out to touch her, to connect them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s frustrating, so beyond frustrating. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Ali is </span>
  <em>
    <span>right here</span>
  </em>
  <span> and can’t he just sense her? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali hurls her frustration towards the abyss, towards him, hoping for once he’ll sense it and engage with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He retreats and Ali is alone again.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>How did her hair go again? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali lets her consciousness circle her form, eyes the waves of black that tumble down her back. Did they wave? Outright curls? She’s already indulged and grown it out longer than it had ever been in life. And now she struggles with mimicking the original texture with the new length. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, Ali’s not even sure she’s gotten the shade right, never mind the texture and length. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali twists the hair into a series of braids that tie into a thick bun. Fuck it, she decides, telling herself she’ll return to the hair at a later time and instead focuses on something more productive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, she never really does return to the hair.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Fuck you too, Kenobi!” she spits, still getting used to moving in a body in this place. It feels like she’s slipped on an ill-fitted bodysuit. Some parts needed to be tailored, others removed, and there’s excess fabric everywhere that she doesn’t know what to do with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, the sound of her voice resonating in this place is a victory. Not because it’s the only thing she knows with absolute certainty is correct about her new body, but because of the fact that she can use it at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali stands in her new body, waving a fist at the once again retreating presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi. She’s done throwing platitudes at his presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Long ago she had deigned to do that, offering memories of herself and him. When that failed she turned to her feelings, once again trying to radiate calm, happiness, fear. Those failed too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now? Now she does this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking bastard, how could you just leave me here? Come back, coward!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This doesn’t work either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ali is yet to be deterred. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It happens so unexpectedly; one moment, she’s cursing at him as usual. The next, Ali feels him latch onto her, and she’s so stunned that for a moment she just pauses and reels at the connection between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she jumps, embracing the myriad of colors and sensations in the world beyond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she’s acquainted herself thoroughly with her surroundings (and there’s very little to acquaint herself with, seeing as everything is beige because she’s surrounded by </span>
  <em>
    <span>sand</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all things) she looks at Kenobi. He’s staring at her—at the lightsaber—intently. The pain in his eyes looks older than before, more tempered. She wonders how long it’s been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wonders where the child—warmth, sunshine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>happiness</span>
  </em>
  <span>—is. Are they staying with Kenobi? How old are they now?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are they still happy?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali notices that Kenobi is starting to get crow’s feet around his gentle blue eyes, signs of time having passed when that concept doesn’t really exist in the void.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenobi deactivates the lightsaber and tucks it back in his pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Ali is left to the void once more.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The next time it happens, she’s in the midst of trying to sort out her feet. What size were they? It’s been some time, she’s older—how much would they have grown? Would she have graduated by now? Become a Jedi Knight? Would she still be apprenticed to Master Nu?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whoosh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her vision goes blue around the edges once more, and she’s inside a darkened stone hut. The furnishings are sparse, barely a single luxury afforded to him besides the fresh water that sits untouched in a clay pitcher next to a small wash basin.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Water.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ali tries to remember what it tastes like, how it feels in her mouth. She only comes up with adjectives: cool, refreshing. That’s water. But what does it taste like? She can’t recall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kenobi stares at her—no, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>lightsaber, though isn’t she now the lightsaber? This is so confusing, why does nothing here make </span>
  </em>
  <span>sense—his eyes more wrinkled than before. She sees the beginnings of an age spot on his cheek, and his hair is graying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But where are all the other Jedi?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s living by the Jedi code, his dwelling indicates as much, but there’s no one else to be found.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where’s the Order? Isn’t he rebuilding it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she had assumed too much—</span>
  <em>
    <span>presumed</span>
  </em>
  <span> too much of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’s a coward after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she was right.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>More time passes. She learns that hands are perhaps the biggest pain in the ass she’s going to encounter in this process. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> she has five fingers on each hand, ten fingers total. Knows that they’re different sizes and lengths, that she has knuckles and nails and cuticles. But putting it all together is the hard part. It’s beginning to seem like she’s sunk a lot of time—too much time—into a fruitless endeavor when she hears it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Click.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whoosh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her vision goes electric blue and then calms the fuck down real quick. It’s almost dizzying, it’s been so long since she last had this experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her surroundings are the same; the same small table with a single chair, the same threadbare blanket covering an equally ratty-looking bedroll. The pitcher has a chip in it, the clay has darkened with age, but there’s no denying that she’s in Kenobi’s home once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hair is fully gray now, along with his beard. His face is lined with wrinkles, but he has no smile lines.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What happened to Obi-Wan Kenobi?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s a shell of himself, so different in appearance and aura that she wonders if he isn’t a different man entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reaches out weakly, tries to touch minds with him. Tries to offer him gentleness where she thought she no longer had any. Tries to give him sunshine and warmth and happiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she has nothing left to give.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan deactivates her and her consciousness lingers, teetering on the precipice once more—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she’s being shoved into a wooden box and she realizes it’s time to give up. To give up on him, to give up on trying to make this work. Because there’s something else inside of her now, something else driving her. A righteous fury inside of her that howls and rages and demands to be freed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Obi-Wan Kenobi cannot free her, then Ali resolves to free herself.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Want to hang out with us? Join my (Onesmartcookie78) Discord!  <a href="https://discord.gg/phzUsxX">Join my Discord!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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